An Avengers Christmas
by h34rt1lly
Summary: Tony throws The Avengers a Christmas party, and Bucky Barnes is less than pleased. At least the night ends on a good note. Gift fic for JayRain.


**Author's Note:**

 _Written for JayRain for The Bucky Barnes Fanfiction Society's Secret Santa fic exchange : 3 I don't normally participate in __these types of things, but with it being another Bucky!centric prompt, and seeing as how I haven't written Bucky in a long time, I figured, why not? While it's mostly Bucky!centric, the majority of the Avengers at least make an appearance._

 _This can be seen as taking place either a year or more after CA:CW, or prior to when my other Bucky one-shot, Closer Than This, takes place. Take your pick._

 _Mucho thanks to my lovely, good friend, raineraine for beta-reading for me on short notice. JayRain, I hope you like it! Happy holidays, y'all._

* * *

Avengers Tower looked absolutely ridiculous.

Uncharacteristically lit up by red and green spotlights, every glass pane on the Tower glowed as if lit from within by Christmas lights; Tony had even taken it upon himself to replace all of the light bulbs in the "A" on the side of the Tower with red and green bulbs. Pair that with the gaudy, dazzling tinsel that was twined around the railing up high, and it looked like Tony had transformed the Tower into his own personal Christmas tree.

With a sigh, Bucky Barnes stared up the length of the ostentatious Tower from the sidewalk below. The crowd weaved around him, oblivious to both him and the equally broad, muscular man standing beside him. New Yorkers—especially Manhattanites—were incredibly resourceful when it came to making their own paths. If you were in the way, they either bowled you over, or went around you. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes weren't exactly the type you forcefully moved, and thus, the crowd parted around them.

"Come on, Buck. It isn't _that_ bad," Steve tried to reassure him, though he couldn't hide his own slight grimace when he looked up at the Tower.

Bucky snorted as he met his friend's gaze. "Steve, it _is_ that bad. I'm embarrassed to be seen walkin' into this thing."

Frosted bundt cake in hand, Steve gestured for Bucky to follow him as he headed for the front entrance. "Well, I'll go first, then. It won't seem as bad if you just trail after me, right?"

As they passed through the entrance, Bucky stuffed his hands into his front pockets and muttered under his breath, "No, it's _definitely_ still bad."

In the lobby, employees of Stark Industries milled around them, scurrying to their end-destinations. Tony—or more so Pepper now—ran the company as tightly as a ship's captain, and the expressions of the people around them mirrored that strict work ethic; everyone had somewhere equally as important to be.

Bucky and Steve, not so much—unless one would count a Christmas party as "important".

In the past, Tony had been overly fond of parading his wealth and status to the entire world. Though he was still just as arrogant and confident as he'd been a few years ago, his ego had taken a . . . different path, a different focus, so to speak. Instead of flaunting his riches for the sake of exactly that, he now chose to throw extravagant parties for the people in his life that he considered important, irreplaceable even. That meant the newly founded tradition of the "Avengers Christmas Party", to which only those considered Avengers—or pseudo-Avengers—were invited.

Most of the crew lived in Avengers Tower, with the exception of Steve and Bucky, who had chosen to return to Brooklyn. Those who did reside in the Tower had been promptly kicked out for the preceding week to allow Tony and his small army of assistants and party decorators time to prepare. As such, this was the first time the two of them were seeing the Tower since their "ban".

Bucky was pretty sure his annual quota of holiday decorations and festivities were now officially met—and grossly exceeded.

He and Steve made their way to the security checkpoint, badges in hand and ready to be scanned at the turnstiles. Before the Accords, they would've just entered through the secure garage entrance, or cruised on in through the security checkpoint, because, honestly, who wouldn't recognize Captain America or the Winter Soldier? Added layers of security, which equalled more opportunities for checks and balances, had been created since the signing Tony had instigated. Though Steve himself had never ended up adding his signature to the roster, he acquiesced for the most part, if only for the sake of keeping things running smoothly.

The security guards behind the monitoring desk gave them curt nods of acknowledgment as they passed, which Bucky and Steve returned before scanning their badges and pushing through the turnstiles. They piled into an elevator with some of Tony's employees, and Steve shuffled his way through the throng to use the retina scanner above the floor buttons; somehow he and Bucky had ended up towards the back of the elevator car.

Once the scanner blinked green, Steve straightened, and Jarvis' voice came through the speakers—or were they referring to him as Vision now? "Mr. Rogers, welcome back. Coming straight up to headquarters, I presume?"

"Got that right, Jarvis. Er, I mean—" Steve stumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Is it . . .?"

"Jarvis is fine, Mr. Rogers."

With that, the elevator fell silent once more. Seemingly embarrassed, Steve shuffled in place, apologizing when he bumped into the tiny woman standing beside him. At the back of the elevator, Bucky shook his head at his friend with a fond expression. Even though Steve was bigger and burlier now, he was still the little goober Bucky grew up with.

With each passing floor, the elevator became more and more empty until it was just Steve and Bucky left. Finally, when they reached the official "HQ" floor, they traipsed out of the steel cube and onto polished marble floors of the penthouse. From down the hall, the soft tunes of Christmas music drifted through the air in a failed attempt at lightening the mood. Wall-to-wall, strings of twinkling white Christmas lights lined the edge of the ceiling. Their soft glow reflected off of the marble, making the entire space look less like an operative headquarters, and more like a _home_.

 _Not about to voice that aloud, though,_ Bucky thought. _Next thing you know, Tony'll be trying to convince us to move in. Or, well, at least Steve. Not me. It will never be me._

Surprised by the level of festivity that now saturated the Tower, Bucky and Steve came to a stop in the entranceway, taking in their surroundings. With perfect, and completely unsurprising timing, Vision swooped into their view, dressed in a gray cable-knit sweater, complete with a crisp, ironed collar of a dress-shirt draped over the neckline.

"Welcome back, Captain; Mr. Barnes. Come, everyone is in the next room." Vision pivoted on his heel and led the pair down the hall, towards the living area.

Silently, they trailed after Vision, and Bucky couldn't suppress the wave of dread that washed over him. It wasn't as if he _hated_ these little get-togethers. He simply felt . . . out of place. They all laughed together, shared so much history with one another, and the only person he really had that rapport with . . . was Steve. Granted, there was Natasha too, but since Hydra had removed their tentacles from his mind, the two of them had been tentatively circling one another, neither one wanting to be the one who opened up first.

As a result, whenever they were in the same room, there tended to be some rather intense build-up of tension in the air.

The moment the three of them entered the living room, everyone swiveled around to greet them with enthusiasm and, in Tony's case, a party popper. Steve, ever the gracious one, waved away the confetti in the kindest way possible before offering a tentative wave. It seemed as if a sudden bout of shyness had come over him, and Bucky suspected it was likely on his behalf.

Ever since he woke up from cryo—again—the Avengers had been more than welcoming to him. The majority of them treated him like the family they considered their comrades to be, and he couldn't possibly begin to put into words how grateful he was to them for including him. He knew that couldn't have been easy for a few of them, Tony in particular.

T'Challa and Natasha, though, were exceptions to the rule.

After T'Challa's gracious, and invaluable, assistance with his brainwashing issues, there was an underlying current of camaraderie to their interactions, though Bucky wasn't sure he could actually call the King a friend. It was more so that they shared an understanding that was impossible to put into words. When they locked eyes across the room, T'Challa inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, and Bucky returned the gesture, though his nod was closer to a bow of respect.

Natasha was, of course, as enigmatic and coy as ever. She smiled at him from across the room, and even though she didn't step closer, Bucky felt his throat tighten in response to their maintained eye contact. He wasn't sure how much time passed as they stood there, staring at one another across the room.

Lost to his surroundings, the sound of Pepper and Steve's conversation finally jolted him back to reality. Tearing his gaze away from Natasha, he saw that Steve had handed Pepper the bundt cake they'd brought, which she promptly prepped for serving and placed on the kitchen counter. A 12-ft tall Christmas tree, which was practically fluorescent from so many lights weighing it down, stood in the far corner of the room, flanked on both sides by the floor-to-ceiling picturesque windows that lined the space.

The Christmas music they'd heard earlier was apparently coming from the record player beside the tree; the crooning of the 1940s-esque singer was significantly louder in here than it had been by the elevator. Surprised by Tony's choice of music, Bucky glanced over at the billionaire extraordinaire, quirking an eyebrow at the other man. This was the type of music he and Steve enjoyed, but he would've never pegged Tony as a lover of the older music eras.

Tony's only response was a slow grin, before he ambled into the kitchen to grab down a bottle of champagne.

 _Is this his version of an olive branch_? Bucky crossed his arms as he frowned at the back of Tony's head. The gesture was appreciated, but it left him feeling . . . open, and vulnerable. Should he say something? Should he _thank_ the guy? What exactly was the protocol for speaking to the man whose parents you'd murdered?

The second that thought flitted across his mind, Bucky's countenance darkened even more, and the crease between his brows turned into a full-on divot. It seemed like, no matter how hard he tried, he could never escape his past. It constantly hovered at the back of his memories, ready to accost him at any turn of thought.

A sudden presence at his side startled him, and, with a frown, he turned sharply to stare at whomever it was; there weren't many people who were capable of sneaking up on him. To his surprise, it was Natasha. With an understanding, somewhat sad smile, she reached up and finagled her arm around the crook of his elbow. Gently, she coaxed his tightly crossed arms away from his chest, before leading him away from the kitchen.

Without a word, he let her, grateful for the distraction from his morbid train of thought. Even though they'd yet to discuss their past and where they were supposed to go from here, her close proximity relaxed him in ways no one else could. Despite the uncertainty hovering in the air between them, it amazed him that her presence alone could still do that.

They came to a stop beside the colossal Christmas tree, and Bucky admired the way the multi-colored lights cast prismatic, hued shadows across her skin. By now, the sun was beginning to sink below the New York skyline, bathing the entire Tower in soft hues of gold and russet. Warmth settled over him, reminding him that, by some miracle, he was here in Avengers Tower, surrounded by people he considered allies and friends, not stuck in the harsh wasteland of Siberia, wasting away in terms of both body and soul.

Natasha's slender fingers traced the stubble on his jaw, drawing his attention back down to her. In a quiet voice, she murmured, "Stop thinking, Barnes."

A slight scoff escaped him. "It's been a long time, Natasha, but I know you know that it's not that simple."

Her intense gaze faltered ever-so-slightly before she met his eyes again. "I know," she whispered.

Her hand shifted to fully cup his cheek, and to his surprise, he found himself leaning into her touch. His body remembered things that his mind had yet to catch up to. He knew they had history, but seeing himself in his memories—being familiar with Natasha, _touching_ Natasha—and trying to do so now, was a completely different story.

Every time he tried, he always hesitated. Tonight seemed to be different.

As he gazed into the clear, verdant depths of her eyes, he found himself leaning in, his gaze focused on her full, blush-colored lips. Every sound around them faded into the background, and all he could hear now was the sound of his own breathing; faintly, in the distance, he thought he could still hear the Christmas music playing.

It didn't feel real when his own lips grazed across hers—almost as if he were out of his own body, witnessing it happening instead of being an active participant. When Natasha opened for him, and he felt her tongue tentatively slide along the edge of his own, it was like a dam broke loose inside of him.

With a groan he didn't recognize as coming from himself, he wound his arm around her waist and pulled her in, flush against his body. She gasped into his mouth, seemingly surprised by the voracity of his reaction, before wrapping her arms up and around his neck. The warmth from the setting sun faded, replaced by Natasha's blazing heat, intermingling with his own.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there, completely wrapped up in one another, before a sharp whistle came from the kitchen. Equally as startled, they broke apart in a hurry.

Natasha, with an uncharacteristic blush on her cheeks, turned toward the window, her hand covering the bottom half of her face as she tried to hide a smirk. Bucky let out a disgruntled sigh as he looked over at the kitchen, unsurprised to see that it had been Sam who had whistled. Beside him, Clint winked at Bucky before taking a sip of whatever was in his mug—probably coffee, as always.

"It's about damn time you two got to it," Sam jeered, a wide grin spreading across his face as he propped his hands up on his hips, eyes darting upwards. "Took you a mistletoe to find the courage, huh?"

Confused, Bucky furrowed his brows before following Sam's gaze. True enough, a surreptitiously hidden sprig of green, complete with a couple of holly berries, had been tied around one of the roof rafters. A dry chuckle left him as he looked back down at Natasha with a quirked brow.

Seemingly unapologetic, she shrugged at him, smirk still firmly in place. "If I didn't drag you over here, who knows how long I would've been waiting for you to make a move."

"Wow," Bucky murmured. "Am I the only one who wasn't on the same page?"

From beside him, Steve's warm voice piped up, sounding awfully amused. "Pretty much, Buck. It wasn't really 'Tasha's idea, though. Bet you can't guess whose it was . . ."

Steve trailed off, and the corner of his lips quirked upwards. Bucky shook his head ever-so-slightly at his friend, and that's when Sharon walked up to join them with a friendly smile on her face. Steve slipped his arm around Sharon's waist and Bucky nodded in acknowledgment at her.

She lifted her glass of champagne in greeting, and with an awkward chuckle, said, "If it's any consolation, we've been at Tony's mercy, too, for the entire time he's been planning this thing. It's been awful."

It was then that Tony came barrelling back into the room, young Peter Parker trailing right on his heels, announcing his presence at several volume notches above normal. "Time for presents everyone! Let's gather around the tree!" he exclaimed, before looking over and spotting Bucky, Natasha, Steve, and Sharon across the room. "Oh! Looks like you two found the mistletoe! 'Bout time!"

"Jesus," Bucky mumbled as Natasha let out a soft chuckle. Raising his voice, he asked, "Did everyone know?"

Steve, Sharon, and even Natasha, all nodded in unison, causing Bucky to let out a groan. Much to his annoyance, even _Rhodes_ , standing beside Pepper across the room, also nodded.

"Wonderful. I'm guessing it was _his_ idea?" Bucky asked, gesturing with his chin to Tony as the man in question came up to join them.

"Sure was, Fridge Magnet. You're welcome," Tony quipped, before making his rounds. Poor Peter had been given the task of carrying the assortment of gifts, allowing Tony to simply grab and drop said presents into their intended recipients' hands. Still, he looked over the moon at being included as an Avenger, and therefore, invited to the party.

As they passed and headed to the next lucky person, Peter called out, "Wait, Mr. Stark! I can't walk that fast with all these presents in my hands! Mr. Stark!"

Bucky's gift was rather large, and it jingled slightly when he caught it, causing him to raise an eyebrow in suspicion. _What the hell is this supposed to be?_

Beside him, Natasha's gift, identical in size, let out its own jingle as well. They shared a skeptical glance, knowing that, when it came to Tony, their gifts could be anything under the sun, from a cheesy Christmas-themed snowglobe, to a bedazzled gun holster.

 _Please let it not be either one_.

After Tony's rousing, and unfortunately, rather effective corralling efforts, the rest of the group finally gathered around the tree. Wanda and Vision gravitated towards one another, and made their way to stand behind the massive couch in the center of the room. Steve and Sharon sank down onto said couch, and most of the group eventually found seats on various pieces of furniture. Bruce, as per his usual, found a spot on the perimeter of the group, folding his hands in his lap with a tiny, albeit somewhat tight, smile. Thor was the only Avenger who wasn't present; his responsibilities in Asgard were far too demanding, according to the missive he'd sent, but he wished them all a happy "Midgard Holiday Celebration".

Bucky opted to remain standing, though he did slightly lean against the side of the sofa. To his surprise, Natasha meandered over to his side before gracefully sinking down onto the floor, crossing her legs before placing her gift in her lap.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye for a moment, admiring the way her black leggings hugged every curve of her lower body. When Steve cleared his throat on the other side of him, Bucky's gaze snapped back to Tony in an attempt to pretend he'd never been acting like anything but a gentleman; his neck flushed at being caught. His friend chuckled, and Bucky shifted his eyes to the side, sending a scathing glare Steve's way.

Steve's only response was a chuckle, and Tony called everyone's attention back to him once more.

"All right, everyone. Like I said, it's time for presents. Pepper and I went above and beyond—no, really—to try and get everyone gifts we thought were both practical, and funny. One, you're welcome, and two, Merry Christmas. Have at 'em!"

He promptly proceeded to tear the wrapping off of his own present, which turned out to be a 3D model of a new prototype of the Iron Man suit that he'd been slaving away at for the past few weeks. A gentle, fond expression flitted across his face—one Bucky never thought he'd witness in person—as he looked up at Pepper and mouthed, "Thank you."

From there, every single person opened their present in sequence, going around the circle until it was Natasha's turn. Tony piped up and said, "Oh, wait. You two have to open your presents at the same time," pointing at Natasha and Bucky.

"And why do we have to do that?" Natasha asked, raising a perfectly shaped brow.

"Just because."

Natasha glanced up at Bucky before she started peeling off her wrapping paper. Taking her cue, Bucky tore at one end of his box as well, timing his reveal so that it would sync up with hers. When they both held nondescript, white, rectangular boxes in their hands, they looked over at each other.

"Oh, come on. You're killing me with anticipation, here," Tony quipped.

Natasha rolled her eyes, popping off the tape on the side of her box so she could lift the lid. Bucky did the same, and when he saw the garish, overly festive sweater inside, complete with miniature bells— _Explains the jingling_ —he grimaced.

"This has got to be the ugliest sweater I've ever seen," he mumbled, to which Tony had the gall to laugh—loudly.

"Oh no, it gets better. Take _yours_ out of the box, Nat," Tony instructed with another chuckle.

Hesitating for the briefest second, Natasha finally acquiesced. Her sweater was black and red like Bucky's, complete with white snowflakes in even, horizontal lines. In red lettering, the word, "Widow", ran across the middle of the sweater, likely where it would sit right on her chest. When Bucky pulled his out, he saw that his was nearly identical, with the exception of the word: his said, "Winter".

"Are these . . . matching _couple_ sweaters, Tony?" Natasha asked, sounding like she was experiencing the same amount of disbelief that Bucky was right about now.

"They sure are," Tony replied, sounding awfully smug. "See, I had this whole plan. We'd get the mistletoe to work out—and look at that, it _did_ —and then these sweaters would seal the deal."

"I—" Bucky started to say, before he cut himself off and ran his hand down his face. "I am never going to wear this thing."

Tony's face fell into a mock-frown. "Aw, don't be a spoilsport, Manchurian Candidate. It's Christmas."

"I _really_ hate that nickname," Bucky mumbled. He then looked over at Natasha, who, much to his surprise, yet again, was tugging her sweater over her head. "Are you really—"

"Yeah, why not?" she interrupted him to say, looking down at her sweater as she pulled at it in certain places to get it to sit better. "Tony has a point: it _is_ Christmas."

He opened his mouth to retort, but eventually changed his mind, looking back down at his own sweater. With what was likely the world's longest sigh, he unfurled his sweater before pulling it over his own head. Everyone whooped when he had it on all the way, to which he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in response.

"Only for today," Bucky swore, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

Pepper, ever the group's saving grace, hopped off the couch and clapped her hands. "Who wants cake and hot cocoa, hm?" she asked. Without waiting for a response, she beelined for the kitchen.

Immediately, Clint shot to his feet and trailed after Pepper. "Wait, there's cake?"

The rest of the group got up to rearrange their positions and get comfortable. Natasha rose to her feet and met Bucky's gaze, a self-deprecating smile on her face. "We look absolutely adorable," she said, her lips twitching in amusement.

First, he looked at her sweater in all of its terrible glory, before inspecting his own. He couldn't help but laugh at how comical they had to look, and when he locked eyes with her once more, he scoffed in good humor. "Yeah, that's one word for it."

She glanced over her shoulder out the window, and with a neutral expression, noted, "It started to snow."

Following her gaze, Bucky realized that she was right. The tiniest, softest flurries of snow were drifting down past the window, lit from behind by the New York skyline. The view, so familiar, and yet, so entirely different, distracted Bucky, pulling him from the now and into the past. With heavy feet that he didn't seem to be controlling himself, he wandered over to the window, pressing his hand against the frigid glass.

"Yeah, I guess it did," he whispered, watching the trails of white as they fell down and out of his view.

Behind him, he heard Natasha speaking to Pepper briefly, before her warmth approached and settled beside him. Gently, she pushed a steaming mug of hot cocoa towards him, and he absentmindedly reached over with his right hand to take it from her. The scalding hot temperature barely registered in his mind, and he cupped the mug with his metal hand as well.

With absolutely no qualms, which was more than he could say about even himself, Natasha leaned over and rested her cheek against the red star on his left deltoid. Filled with an emotion he couldn't quite put into words, he stared down at her, the snow and his past forgotten for the moment. His eyes traced the faint veins of gold that ran through her hair, veins that he'd never noticed before, mesmerized by their—by _her_ —beauty.

In a quiet voice, she said, "The snow does things to me, too."

At her words, his throat closed up and he fought to swallow. "Yeah?" he murmured.

"Yeah. No matter how much I try to act like it doesn't, winter is . . . hard for me."

Bucky lifted his head and stared outside again, tracing the lines of condensation on the glass pane with his eyes now, instead of Natasha's hair. "Do you think . . . Do you think the memories will ever go away?"

Beside him, she straightened, raising her mug to take a sip. Once she had swallowed, she said, "No, I don't think so. But, you know, it's funny." She turned, looking up at him with an unreadable expression, eyes filled with an unknown emotion. "It seems easier to handle with you here."

He stared down at her, mug of hot cocoa forgotten, the snow outside, a problem for another time. With his metal hand, he reached up and cupped her cheek, expecting her to pull away from the coldness of his touch. Because she was Natasha, and forever catching him off-guard, she leaned into his palm instead, and her eyes slid shut with a quiet sigh.

"It _is_ funny," Bucky murmured, leaning down for the second time that night to capture her lips in a kiss. Moments later, when he broke away, he finished, "I was just thinking the same thing."

Slowly, her eyes opened. A new, mischievous glint shone in their depths, and the corner of her sensual lips curled upwards. "How about that? Merry Christmas . . . James."

Instead of feeling irritated at hearing his _real_ name, the one literally no one ever called him anymore, warmth spread throughout his chest, slow and simmering, like the flame of a candle. Tonight, he didn't think he had the energy to even _begin_ to figure out exactly what that warmth meant, what long-forgotten emotion it could be—one he'd buried long ago that she had brought to the surface once more.

Instead, he decided to follow her advice. After all, today was a special day.

Tucking a strand of fiery, vibrant red hair behind her ear, he smiled at her.

"Merry Christmas, Natasha."


End file.
